


You Probably Shouldn't

by aurumdalseni (kyo_chan)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Call Down the Hawk Spoilers, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni
Summary: Declan blinked, finding himself lingering at the entrance to a shop he couldn’t recall ever noticing before. It was tiny, reminiscent of the double he shared with Matthew back in Aglionby. What had caught his attention was all the color; flowers burst from low-budget refrigerated shelving, arranged in harmonious sprays and adventurous combinations. Something about the sight of them yanked hard at his lungs. He took a step inside. Then another.Or, the flower shop AU Declan probably needs in his life.
Relationships: Jordan/Declan Lynch
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29
Collections: TRC/ CDTH Prompt Week 2020





	You Probably Shouldn't

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece for the [TRC/Dreamer Trilogy Prompt Week](https://pynchpromptweek.tumblr.com/)! Today's prompt was "Flower Shop/ Tattoo AU/Coffee Shop AU" and despite my caffeinated heart, I went with flower shop. I haven't written a good flower shop scenario in a long time, so I was overdue. (Shout out to any WK fans still lurking out there.) And because I couldn't help myself, and Declan Lynch deserves nice things, it's Jordeclan flavored. Hope you enjoy!

At the very least, Declan consoled himself, there were many places to be invisible in. At the heart of the city, several blocks away from his internship office, nobody cared. He was just another suit among many. He was featureless, faceless, and he could just  _ be _ . Not his ideal manner of existing, but it would do in a pinch. He’d tucked one earbud in so something other than his brain could scream for a while and set his pace to the beat. Matthew had another hour before soccer practice was over. It didn’t matter where Declan went as long as it felt like he was walking away from something. 

His shoulder still smarted from where Ronan had punched him Sunday afternoon. 

“You gonna come in, mate? Or are you just gonna block the doorway?”

Declan blinked, finding himself lingering at the entrance to a shop he couldn’t recall ever noticing before. It was tiny, reminiscent of the double he shared with Matthew back in Aglionby. What had caught his attention was all the color; flowers burst from low-budget refrigerated shelving, arranged in harmonious sprays and adventurous combinations. Something about the sight of them yanked hard at his lungs. He took a step inside. Then another. 

All around him, blooms reached and strained. Declan absently reached up and pulled the bud out of his ear so the noise wouldn’t distract him. Somewhere in this tiny shop, a radio played oldies he remembered hearing in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared. The homesickness crashed into him without warning. All of the petals looked so soft, his fingers itched to touch them. 

_ You probably shouldn’t touch anything in here _ , Niall’s voice warned him pleasantly.

Declan pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He compensated by imagining some of these colors on a canvas, what kind of scenes they would bring to life. God, the marigolds were stunning. There were always so many flowers back home… He turned his eyes to the single counter and its occupant, perched on a stool next to a cash register that looked much older than he was. The young woman watched him, not like he was going to lift something, but like he was interesting, unexpected. He absently wondered if this shop got much business. The skill and care taken in making some of these arrangements suggested it would be a crime if it didn’t. She was beautiful, the shopkeeper with her focused stare. He liked that she didn’t do it bashfully either. He liked the shape of her eyes, the shape of her smile.  _ You probably shouldn’t touch anything in here. _

“These are lovely,” he said. 

His empty voice, his bland voice, nice weather we’re having today voice. 

Her brow arched up toward the brightly colored bandanna wrapped around her hair. “You just here to browse then?”

Declan’s gaze flickered over to an arrangement gently kissed with hydrangea blooms, and he felt that complicated tug inside himself again. “Do you do deliveries?” 

“Hirin’ a messenger’s extra, but it’s a thing I can do, yeah.”

Distantly, he noted how much he liked her accent. It felt pleasant in his bones, carrying away the sting of memory. “I don’t mind the fee.”

He turned his gaze back to her. There were flowers arranged around her throat as well, roses of various shades inked into her skin. More were on the backs of her pretty hands. An idea cemented itself into his head that she was the one who had made all of these arrangements; there was just no room for any other option. And if there was, he didn’t want to know. 

“If you have any hydrangea left, I’d like to request an arrangement. Hydrangea and white hyacinth.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt strangely exposed. 

She was already scratching notes down onto a worn steno pad next to the register. Declan was acutely aware of the sound the pencil made against the paper. He thought of sketchbooks tucked in dusty corners, in forgotten boxes underneath the bed. He regretted coming in here at all. 

“Girlfriend?” the florist asked, but in such a way that she expected his answer to be different. 

Maybe that was just his imagination. “My…mother.”

The hydrangea drew his eye again, and he thought of Aurora’s eyes. No one had seen them open in a very long time, but he still remembered how they’d been a warmer blue than his father’s. She would love these. She’d love this shop and everything in it. She would be smiling at the florist’s London accent and complimenting her tattoos pleasantly. That homesickness came back in a rush. He couldn’t deliver these himself, no one he shared blood with could, but it wasn’t cheating if a messenger did. He crossed the short distance to the counter, resting a hand on it casually, liking the worn finish beneath his fingertips. There were mere inches between his hand and the florist’s.  _ You probably shouldn’t touch anything in here. _

“I’m gonna check the back, mate.” She slid off the stool, then held out her hand. “Jordan.”

The warning in his own mind simmered away in the seconds it took for him to clasp his fingers around hers. She absolutely made all of these arrangements. “Declan.”

“Try not to walk off with the goods,” Jordan teased with a wink.

It made him feel dangerous. “Do I look so dishonest?” He feigned insult because even though he hadn’t been, most would be offended by judgment under the guise of a harmless joke. 

She turned her back to him, waving casually over her shoulder. “Everyone’s got a hobby.”

Declan took a deep breath when she vanished through a silky looking curtain covering the door to the back. Voices drifted out to where he stood, but nothing he could distinguish, and he wasn’t sure it mattered. He could have left, walked out and been as forgettable as he’d been when he walked in. Declan didn’t like leaving a transaction unfinished. It was a lie as soon as he thought it. 

Jordan returned with fresh bunches of the hyacinth and hydrangea he’d requested, their stems still dripping. The color of the blooms made his chest tight. He didn’t know what it was about this shop or its beautiful attendant, but he knew he was dancing on a knife edge. Perilously elegant, fatal to slip. He felt like he was dreaming, or he was just waking up. She set the sprigs down and measured them out with an assortment of greens she’d brought with to build out the arrangement. 

“Black market rare goods,” he said. The lies were so much easier to believe.

She looked up at him. Not like it concerned her, but more like it caught her interest. He was a dozen miles over the speed limit under his own skin. Was this what Ronan felt like every waking moment? How did he live with himself?

“The hobby,” he clarified with a ghost of a smile. 

Jordan grinned and showed her teeth. “Art forgery,” she responded, going back to trimming stems like they’d just exchanged more proper business cards. Declan didn’t want to be interested, he really didn’t. But he was. Even if she wasn’t serious, art was something Delcan Lynch was incapable of ignoring, in any of its forms. He laughed in his bland way while the ties holding him together loosened. His lungs tasted the perfume of flowers, the scent of her soap. Her smile had infected him; he felt lightheaded. The silence stretched comfortably between them, and he watched her until his phone buzzed; Matthew was done with practice. 

“I’ll have these delivered in the morning,” she told him, nodding to the notepad. “Jot the address down.”

“I’ll pay cash,” he said as he wrote down the Aurora Lynch, care of the home nurse that saw to her every other day. 

Jordan’s mouth made that knowing and very pleasant shape again. “Of course you will.” 

He paid the total written down and quite a bit more. Jordan nodded her thanks, already deeply involved with whatever shape the flowers were going to take. The arrangement for Aurora was in good hands, he was certain of that. He thanked her quietly and headed for the door.

“See you next time, Declan Lynch,” Jordan called after him.

Inevitable, that’s what it sounded like. He told himself  _ never again _ . But it was a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to come yell at me about Declan or TRC/TDT in general over at [my blog](http://oldkingyounggod.tumblr.com)!


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